The Great Hunter
by Jensenite42
Summary: The brothers find themselved in Atlanta pitted against a ghostly Hunter with connections to a museum artifact. Dean is injured on the hunt but that won't stop him from wasting one very deserving spirit.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer-Sadly, I don't own the Winchesters. But I can always pretend I do.

a/n- My first fanfic so feedback and reviews craved!

* * *

'Sam, down!"

Sam Winchester bent low, narrowly avoiding a face full of rock salt.

"Son of a…."

Sam glanced over at Dean, who was furiously shoving a new round into his shotgun.

"Where the hell'd it go?" Sam yelled, trying to be heard over the torrential downpour.

His brother didn't respond, too busy scanning the surrounding graveyard. Between the darkness and sheeting rain, all he could make out were silhouettes of headstones.

"Dammit," he cursed.

Things were not going as planned.

When they'd first read that several Atlanta residents had been mauled by "dogs" outside the city cemetery, the brothers figured this was just their type of job. While the local authorities had chalked the deaths up to some rabid animal, Sam and Dean knew better. After all - they'd come across Black Dogs, or Hell Hounds, before. What they hadn't expected was the arrival of one very large - very violent - spirit.

Apparently, these Hounds had an owner. And he was pissed.

"Dean!" Sam raised his gun at the shimmering form materializing behind his brother. From the looks of things, it hadn't taken too kindly to Dean's near miss. "Behind you!"

Dean whirled, weapon raised. He caught a glimpse of a skull-like face and enormous set of horns before the shotgun was knocked from his hands. A violent blow to his chest sent him flying,his body hurled through the air and slammed violently into a tall, stone crucifix.

A sharp crack echoed through the gloom as Sam fired off a round, hitting the figure squarely in the chest. At the impact of the salt grains, the ghost dissipated, leaving the boys alone in the night. Sam scanned the grounds but there was no sign of their attacker.

Across the graveyard, he could just make out the outline of his brother lying facedown in the wet grass.

He wasn't moving.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as he sprinted over to his brother's fallen form.

"Dean…," Sam knelt near his brother's motionless body, praying he would be met by some wiseass remark, but there was only silence.

It wasn't often things were quiet around his brother. Sam pushed down the gnawing fear that was beginning to creep up his throat.

"Dean, can you hear me?

Gently, he turned his brother over. "Please, say something, man."

There was a soft groan and Dean's eyelids twitched.

"Ow."

Sam let out the breath he was holding. "Jesus, Dean you scared me."

Dean forced his eyes open and tried on focus on the two Sam's leaning over him. Both wore the same worried expression. "Better watch the blasphemy, Sammy," he said painfully, "I think we're already on the cosmic shit list."

Sam glanced up at the crucifix. A large, jagged crack ran like a lightning bolt across the front surface of the stone.

Sam turned back to Dean. "I told you to lay off the fast food."

Dean shot Sam a look…or tried to anyway. He couldn't accomplish much from his current horizontal position.

_Which reminded him..._

"Hey, what happened to Mr. Friendly?"

Sam glanced around. "Gone. After he attacked you, I caught him with a round of rocksalt and he took off."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, well I doubt he'll stay away for long. What's say we get out of this freakshow?" He made an attempt to sit up.

The sudden, intense flash of pain stopped him cold.

Seeing Dean hesitate, Sam was instantly on alert. "What is it?"

"Nothin…" Dean lied. "Just moved too fast."

Bracing his hands on the ground, Dean tried once again to push himself up. Another wave of pain coursed through him. He wondered if it was possible for his chest to spontaneously implode.

Sam watched as Dean's face drained of color. It took a lot to slow Dean down. He had been beaten, bitten, clawed, and generally had his ass kicked dozens of times, but he always walked away. The fact that he now struggled with a simple thing like sitting up alarmed Sam. He whipped out his cell phone.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Sam didn't look at his older brother. "I'm calling you an ambulance."

Dean stared at Sam as if he had grown two heads. _Like hell!_ They were trespassing, in a cemetery, with unregistered shotguns. Sometimes Dean wondered about the kid.

"Oh, that's brilliant Sam." He made a move to grab the phone and instantly regretted it. He gritted his teeth against a fresh wave of pain. "Why not just make a little neon sign that says 'Arrest Us' college boy?"

Sam stood, trying to locate a signal in the rain. "Dean, it's pouring out, you're hurt, the car is two miles away and we have a seriously pissed off undead pet lover who wants to kick both our asses." He pressed the send button. "So shut up. I'm calling the freakin' ambulance."

At that moment, Dean wished he was the one with the psychic abilities. Then he'd have the power to mentally hurl a chunk of the busted sculpture at his brother's empty little head.

Unfortunately for Dean, he had to settle for lying on his back in agony, thinking venomous thoughts and cursing Sam under his breath.

_

* * *

_

_Atlanta Memorial Hospital_

Sam handed the clipboard containing the forged insurance documents to the heavyset nurse behind the counter. He gave her one of his patented Sam Winchester smiles, which had her completely forgetting to inspect the papers. He shoved the insurance card back in his wallet.

As he headed down the hall, Sam steeled himself for a very unhappy Dean. He knew his brother was pissed as he dialed for the ambulance, but the real fun began as the paramedics arrived. Sam had returned from stowing the guns only to find Dean practically coming to blows with the paramedics as they tried to load him onto the stretcher. Despite the fact that he had nearly passed out twice during this little episode, his brother had repeatedly insisted he was fine.

That was Dean for you.

Deep down, Sam knew his brother couldn't stand losing the feeling of control. It was why he always drove, always played protector to his little brother and always was such a cocky pain in the ass.

He arrived at his brother's room only to find Dean furiously pushing the channel button on the hospital remote.

"Stupid hospital, no cable, can't find a damn…"

"Good to see you're taking it easy," Sam interrupted.

Dean shot him a look. _If only looks could kill Sammy,_ he thought to himself_. You'd be a dead man._

"I have your medication, Mr. O'Toole," said the nurse cheerfully, sweeping into the room and greeting Dean with their latest alias. She handed him a small cup of capsules before checking his vitals.

Dean eyed the pills with disgust and threw Sam a look of pure hatred.

"You…are SO getting pummeled when I get out of here."

Sam wasn't too worried.

Seeing as his brother had three broken ribs and couldn't even breathe without wincing, Sam didn't think he'd be much of a threat.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean threw his head back against the pillow. He wished Sam would hurry up. Dean had been a prisoner long enough.

With the trauma to his chest and the fact that he had lost consciousness after the impact, the doctors had insisted he be kept for observation. Although he'd only been admitted the night before, Dean was already climbing the walls. He couldn't think of anything else but blessed freedom from the stuffy hospital room. That, and sending a certain spirit freak back to a nice fiery resting place.

His mind reran the scene in the graveyard. Even though Dean had only caught a glimpse of his attacker before being sent flying, the image was burned into his brain.

That was one fugly spirit.

It's face had been skeletal, with huge empty sockets in place of eyes, fierce white teeth, and sharp cheekbones. Slung over its shoulder was an ornate bow and its fashion sense definitely left something to be desired. The antiquated hooded cloak and dated clothing reminded Dean of something out of a bad Robin Hood movie. Stranger still was the perfectly formed set of antlers that sprouted from the top of its head.

Dean didn't really give a crap what it looked like - he wanted to waste it. Just because last night's encounter hadn't gone in his favor, didn't mean Dean was letting that spectral son-of-a-bitch get away. That freak was _so_ getting his ass dusted. And Dean couldn't very well make that happen as an inmate of Atlanta Memorial.

He picked up the remote from the small nightstand and lazily flipped through the TV channels. _Stupid infomercials._ Why anyone would want spray-on hair was beyond him.

"Good morning, _Mr. O'Toole. _How'd you sleep?" Sam quipped as he entered Dean's hospital room.

"Dude, you're the tool," Dean snapped. "Now make yourself useful and go sign the release papers."

"Hello to you too." A smile played on Sam's mouth. "A little cranky this morning, aren't we?"

Dean was not in the mood. "Look Gigantor, you get your insides smashed into chiclets and let's see how full of sunshine and roses you are. Now get me out of here."

Sam knew it was a waste of energy to argue with Dean when he got like this. His brother was hurting and frustrated. None of the Winchester men took losing too well, and Dean viewed their little nighttime adventure as one big, fat, steaming kick to his ego.

"All right," Sam relented, shaking his head. "I'll go talk to your doctor.

* * *

"Oh, nice digs, Sam."

Dean snickered at the ramshackle motel as Sam guided the '67 Impala in front of the run down building.

Ordinarily, Dean was not the one to be picky about their accommodations. Hell, he'd spent many a night twisted like a pretzel in the Impala's front seat. But he was stiff, sore and generally in a pissy mood. Hammering his little brother was the one thing that made him feel better.

"Sorry, the Ritz was all booked," Sam countered. He turned off the engine. "Look, there's some art convention going on in town. This was the only place for miles with any rooms available."

"I can see why." Dean took in the chipping paint, the cracked windows. Geez, this place practically screamed Bates Motel.

Ignoring his brother, Sam reached in the back for his duffel and Dean's bag.

As he opened the door, Dean was already attempting to step out of the car.

Sam dropped the bags. "Dean! Wait, let me help." He quickly moved around the Impala and put a hand out to grab Dean's arm.

Dean immediately shrugged it off, stifling the grunt of pain that accompanied the sudden movement.

"Back off Francis," he growled through clenched teeth. "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, you're stellar," Sam mocked, but he stayed back, watching his brother's labored efforts. He picked up the dropped bags. "Since you're _obviously_ fine, I'm going to go check us in."

If the exterior of the motel had been off-putting, the interior practically screamed "_Run_".

The walls were a sorry shade of grey-green paint, most of which had peeled off years ago. The pictures on the wall hung at an odd angle and the furniture in the corner looked like something out of a yard sale, complete with moth eaten edges and faded upholstery.

Not to mention the smell.

"Can I help you young man?"

Sam jerked his head over to the front desk. The man behind the counter looked to be in his seventies, and was every bit as shabby as his surroundings.

Sam was about to request a room when Dean entered. He had his right arm braced across his midsection and moved slowly across the lobby to the faded couch.

The old man took in Dean's scratched face and huddled posture. "Geez, boy what happened to you?"

Dean forced out a wry smile as he leaned on the loveseat's arm.

"Let's just say I found Jesus."

The man raised his eyebrow, and before things could go any further, Sam cut in.

"Um, Mr….?"

"Hank."

"Hank." Deftly, Sam slid a $50 bill onto the counter. "We would _really_ just like a room."

The innkeeper eyed the bill before sliding it into his pocket. Hey, with cash up front, they could be cult members for all he cared.

"Room 105, down the hall."

* * *

"Dean, for once could you keep your charming wit to a minimum?" Sam pleaded as he scrolled through the Google Search results. "We can't afford to bribe every person that you offend."

Dean, who was inching his way back from the bathroom by leaning heavily on the motel's dingy walls, turned to his brother.

"Can I help it if some people are just too sensitive?" he countered.

"Whatever, man," Sam retorted. He rolled his eyes and clicked on one of the search responses.

Dean focused on easing himself back onto the bed - no easy task considering each movement felt like someone taking a sledgehammer to his chest.

Sam glanced up at his brother. Dean would kill him if he started fussing so Sam pretended to be deeply interested in the article he had just brought up on the screen. Every now and again he flicked his eyes upward to monitor his brother's progress.

"Sam, you know I sleep with a knife under my pillow," Dean said, finally working himself into a semi-comfortable position. "Keep staring at me like that and I'm going to be forced to use it."

Sam's face reddened.

How the hell did his brother do that?

He cleared his throat and attempted to change the subject. "So, I think I may have found something on our guy."

"The one who used me as a Frisbee?" Dean asked, his brother's murder momentarily forgotten.

"That's the one." Sam continued to scroll through the article on screen. "Apparently, there's a British legend about a horned spirit who hunts with a pack of Hell Hounds. He goes by all sorts of names, Gabriel, Arawn…… but he's generally referred to as Herne or The Great Hunter."

"The Great Hunter?" Dean fiddled with the stack of pillows he had piled against the headboard. "I thought that was my nickname."

Ignoring the remark, Sam started to read the article aloud to Dean:

"…_On stormy nights, when most people stay firmly indoors, the Hunter is known to ride. Leading the chase through the clouds comes the pack: the Hell Hounds. Pitch black with burning red eyes, their baying can be heard for miles. And close on the heels of the pack, illuminated by lightning, comes the Hunter himself - crowned with antlers, an unstoppable force, the harsh power of nature in a terrifying form. _

_Historical figure or vengeful ancient god, the Hunter with his pack of yelping hounds is a terrifying thing to encounter on a dark night. Sometimes the pack is set on a stag (usually supernatural in origin), but more often the Hunter is after more common prey: any human unwary enough to be out alone on a stormy night. _

… _At times, it is enough protection to keep an iron horseshoe close to hand. The horseshoe is made of iron, a metal that traditionally repels fairy creatures and evil spirits. If a horseshoe is not to hand, sometimes a pocketful of salt flung into the path of the Hunter will distract it from its course…"_

"Well at least we know that works," Dean interrupted.

Sam smiled and continued:

"…_Lacking any of these, the traveler's best bet is to hotfoot it to the nearest smithy (a place infused heavily with the power of iron), or to the church. In some legends, the Hunter is foiled when its prey crosses running water. _

_In many parts of Britain and Europe, the Hunter's hounds can occasionally be found wandering by themselves, or in small packs. Many of the areas known to be favoured by the Hunter are also notorious for sightings of the traditional Black Dog of the roads. Some of the time these creatures mysteriously appear and disappear. But at other times, they seem to have their very own, dark agenda._

"It's weird Dean," Sam shook his head. "All the stuff I found on this guy puts him in the British Isles. So what's he doing in the southern United States?"

"Beats me," Dean answered with a yawn. "Maybe he had a craving for some fried chicken and biscuits."

Sam shot his brother a look. "Would you be serious for a minute? Spirits are pretty territorial. The fact that one crossed an ocean is kind of unusual, don't you think? We should check this out."

Dean leaned his head back against the pillows. He was tired and his whole body ached. Not that he'd ever admit that to Sam.

Sam brought up a new window and scrolled down the page. "Looks like the city library has a pretty large collection of rare books. Maybe there's some on European folklore."

Just the thought of sitting in a hard library chair for the next several hours, poring through volumes of old British lore was enough to give Dean a headache. He closed his eyes.

He was really starting to hate that horned freak.

Sam scanned a few other articles online, but they mostly consisted of Black Dog sightings and local myths. He closed the laptop lid and stowed it in his bag. Glancing at Dean, he knew his brother was in no mood, or shape, for a research session.

"I think I can handle this part on my own," Sam offered. "You think you'll be alright here for a while?"

Judging from the quiet snore he got in response, Sam figured that was a yes.

* * *

a/n The legend of Herne the Hunter is real. The article Sam read to Dean was borrowed from the CastleofSpirits website. 


	3. Chapter 3

"_Sam, down!"_

_Dean fired off a shot at the massive form that was moving way too quickly toward his little brother._

_Sam bent low, narrowly avoiding a face full of rock salt._

"_Son of a…."Furious that his first shot had been off, Dean hastily reloaded the shotgun. _

"_Where the hell'd it go?" Sam yelled._

_Dean scanned the surrounding landscape of grey headstones - hunter skills on full alert. He could barely see through darkness and falling rain._

_Things were not going as planned. _

_Not that they ever did._

"_Dean, behind you!"_

_Dean heard his brother's warning and raised his weapon, but it was too late. He caught a glimpse of a skull-like face and enormous set of horns before the shotgun was knocked from his hands. A violent blow to his chest sent him flying, his body hurled through the air and slammed violently into a tall, stone crucifix. _

_A sharp crack echoed through the night as Sam fired off a round._

_Dean watched as the shot went wide. The beast turned his head sharply, angered by the salt spray – it's cold, empty eyes fixed on the youngest Winchester._

_Dean tried to warn his brother, but he couldn't move, couldn't yell. Something was on top of him, crushing his chest and making it hard to breathe. Dean started to panic. _

_Sammy. He needed to get to Sammy. _

_The spirit let out a cry that filled the night. From out of the gloom, the pack of spectral dogs appeared, their red eyed burning in the dark. They formed a circle around Sam._

_As Dean watched helplessly, they began to move in closer._

_And then they attacked._

Dean woke with a start.

His chest was on fire and he was covered in sweat. He took a deep breath to calm himself and instantly regretted it.

_Okay, so breathing's definitely out, _he told himself.

Pushing down the memories of the nightmare, he tried to focus on where he was. His eyes took in the peeling wallpaper and dusty windows.

Ah, yes…Hank's Hellhole.

A glance at his watch told him he'd been out for a little more than an hour. Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean cracked his neck slowly, trying to ease away the stiffness. The panic from the dream had begun to subside.

With the pain in his chest down to a dull ache, he attempted gingerly to swing his legs off the bed.

"Son of a… ," he hissed.

Curling his arm around his taped and bandaged torso, he worked his way over to the bathroom. The memory of the dream gnawed at him.

It wasn't like this was his first nightmare. With what he and Sam dealt with every day it was inevitable that they would have bad dreams now and again. But this time had been different. This time he'd felt so…helpless.

Dean turned off the faucet and was just finished toweling off his face when Sam returned.

"Hey, you're awake." Sam said as he placed two coffee cups and a bag of doughnuts on the shabby table.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean snarked. He made a beeline for the much-needed caffeine.

Sam rolled his eyes and handed him the cup. Dean took a long, grateful sip and lowered himself stiffly back onto the hideous floral comforter.

"So I did a little digging while you were asleep," Sam started.

"And?"

Sam dug through his bag. "Turns out this _hunter _may have been more of a stowaway."

"Come again?"

Sam pulled out a folded paper and brought it over to the bed so his brother could see. The computer printout showed what appeared to be an ivory Celtic Cross. From the ornate carving and detailed craftsmanship, Dean guessed it was pretty old.

"Great, another cross." Dean winced at the memory of his last encounter.

"Looks that way." Sam tried to hide his smile. "Seems Atlanta is home to the High Museum of Art, one of the largest museums in the Southeast. This year, they began a partnership with the Louvre in Paris. They're going to be displaying selected pieces from the Louvre's permanent collection."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "And that helps us how? France may be in Europe, Sam, but it's not exactly part of the British Isles." He gave Sam his sweetest look. "Or did you skip Geography at Stanford?"

Sam gave a curt smile. "Funny." He snatched the printout from his brother.

Dean sipped his coffee. "I thought so."

Sam pointed at the picture. "Look, according to the provenance, this particular piece wasn't originally _from_ the Louvre. They acquired it two months ago," he explained, "from the Museum of London."

Dean eyes met Sam's. "Well, that part certainly fits. But it still doesn't explain why our psycho friend is tied to an ivory cross."

"Because," Sam finished. "It's not carved out of ivory. It's carved out of bone."

* * *

a/n- Okay a short chapter but wanted to give a tease of the story while I work out the next few chapters. Let me know what you think! 


	4. Chapter 4

"Bone? What, like a leg?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"More like an antler bone," Sam replied.

"Antler, huh," Dean said thoughtfully. He thought of the enormous set of horns protruding from the spirit's head. "Well, we know he was definitely packin' in that department. But what made the guy turn all _Island of Dr. Moreau_ anyways?"

Sam leafed through the stack of pages he had copied from the book on European mythology. "Well, the legends say that this hunter was once one of the royal huntsman for King Richard II," Sam explained. "We're talkin' late 1300's here."

"That explains his interesting choice in clothing," Dean snickered. "I mean, come on… tights? So not cool."

"Fashion sense aside…" Sam said, "he saved the king's life one day when a wild animal attacked them both during a hunting expedition. Richard was fine but Herne was fatally wounded, " he read. "As a favor to the king, a witch healed the hunter using black magic. Seems the spell - while curing him - had some… unique side effects…"

"Let me guess," Dean ventured. "He sprouted a nice, shiny, new pair of antlers. Brings new meaning to the phrase horny bastard, eh Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes and read on. "Says here, in return for his life, Herne was forced to sacrifice his hunting skills..."

"Sucks for Herne."

"No kidding." Sam said, shaking his head. "Let's just say, he didn't really take the news too well. He hung himself in the woods soon after." He put down the stack of pages. "Some of the stories say the body was discovered the next day. Others say it was never found – that it was taken."

"So," Dean said slowly, "someone steals the guy's body, whittles a party favor out of his headgear, and now his spirit's tied to the cross?" Dean looked up at Sam.

"Looks like it."

Dean ran a hand over his mouth. "Explains how he took his maiden voyage, but any clue why his Labradors have been making Purina out of the locals?"

Sam shrugged. "Could be the relocation pissed him off, or maybe he's just generally in a bad mood. Either way, that cross is the answer."

"Okay." Dean smiled and pulled out his lighter. "So we torch it."

"Dean," Sam gave his brother a look. "We can't just walk into an alarmed museum and burn a priceless religious artifact."

"Killjoy," Dean huffed, stowing the Zippo. He looked over at Sam. "What do you propose we do then?"

Sam pulled out his cell phone. "I think I know someone who can help."

* * *

"Hey, thanks Scott. We owe you."

Sam hit the end button on his cell and turned to Dean. "We're in."

"You're kidding?" Dean asked incredulously. "You mean your geek Stanford friend actually came through?"

"You know, just because a guy's really into computers doesn't automatically make him a geek, Dean," Sam countered.

"Um…yeah, actually it does." Dean nodded.

"Well, that _geek_ is about to save our asses," Sam said. "Trust me, he's good…like able-to-crack-government-databases good."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

Sam shrugged. "He had a lot of free time on his hands."

"Ahhm…_Geek_," Dean coughed.

"_Anyway_…" Sam said, "getting past the museum's alarm system should be cake for him."

Dean smiled. "Looks like we finally caught a break."

"Well, yes and no," Sam said slowly. "There's just one catch."

"Such as?" Dean asked, lifting himself off the bed and heading for the bag of doughnuts.

"Once the alarm is bypassed," Sam explained, "I'll only have fifteen minutes to get in, get the cross, and get out."

"_I_?" Dean paused at his brother's intentional use of the pronoun. He looked up at Sam. "Don't you mean _we_?"

"No," Sam stated simply. "'Cause you're not going."

"Oh really?" Dean straightened, and nearly crossed his eyes at the twinge of pain. "And why not?" he breathed.

Sam resisted the urge to say "Duh."

"Dean," Sam said slowly. "Look man, I just don't want you to get hurt any worse, okay? I'll be more focused if I know you're here safe, not getting into any trouble." He thought of his brother's lack of ability to sit still for any period of time. "Not getting into any _major_ trouble," he corrected.

Dean started to protest, then closed his mouth.

"Alright, Sam," he stated simply. "You win." He moved over to Sam's bed and grabbed one of the pillows. "I'm just not fit for this one. You go to the museum, and I'll stay here."

Sam stared at his brother. _That was too easy._

"You're gonna stay here?" Sam asked doubtfully.

Dean tossed the pillow onto the pile that was already formed on his bed. "Yup."

"Until I get back?"

"Absolutely."

"You're not gonna move from this room?"

"Not an inch." Dean settled himself on the bed and turned on the TV.

Sam glanced at the clock. It was getting late and there was no time to argue. Scott had said they needed to bring the alarm system down at 10:00 p.m., precisely the time of the guard's second shift change. Sam needed to get to the museum before it closed to scout out the location of the cross.

He looked Dean in the eyes. "You promise?"

"Scout's honor," Dean made the cub scout promise sign. "Now go. I'll be fine."

Sam didn't feel the least bit reassured, but at least he would have the car. How much trouble could Dean really get into?

With a pleading look back at his brother, Sam grabbed his coat. "All right, but I mean it, Dean, please STAY…PUT."

Dean gave a small salute. "Yessir."

Sam left the motel, shaking his head as he went.

As soon as the Impala's engine growled to life, Dean struggled off the bed.

"Ah Sammy…," he muttered. "You should really know me better than that."

* * *

a/n- All the mythology on Herne is real. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction… 

Well? Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? How do you all like it so far? Let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

Sam knew his brother better than that.

Dean Winchester was many things, but patient wasn't one of them.

Neither was rational.

Dean was willing to sacrifice everything to save the ones he loved. Hell, he put himself in jeopardy for complete strangers all the time. When it came to his own well-being though, Dean just didn't give a damn.

But Sam did, and he was worried.

He only hoped his brother would give him an hour before breaking his promise.

* * *

MARTA was one bitch he would NOT be calling on again. 

Dean bit his lip as the above-ground subway car made another sharp turn, throwing him painfully into the passenger next to him.

He mumbled an apology then glanced up at the ceiling. This had not been one of his better plans.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. With Sam taking the Impala, Dean needed find an alternate mode of transportation. According to his ol' pal Hank, the MARTA transit system ran all over downtown Atlanta and would take him practically to the front door of the museum. There was even a station right up the road.

Simple.

Of course, he hadn't counted on the sadistic bastard currently driving.

Dean had never really been an advocate of public transportation, but after this experience, he was never letting the Impala out of his sight again.

He thought longingly of his precious Chevy - though, the way things were going, an airplane was starting to look appealing.

_How much longer is this little mass-transit nightmare gonna last?_ He thought bitterly, staring at the rail map above the seats.

He counted the stops…_six…seven…_

Another sharp turn threw him sideways and swore aloud. The lady to his right eyed him disapprovingly.

He flashed her a pained smile.

Definitely not one of his better plans.

* * *

Sam glanced at the guide map again. 

The High Museum of Art didn't arrange its permanent collection by date of origin, like most museums. Instead the pieces were grouped thematically.

Sam scanned the names and settled on a third floor room titled "Reflections of Faith."

_Guess they didn't think "Haunted Religious Relics" would make a great theme_, Sam said to himself. He folded the map and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans.

His thoughts shifted to Dean. For once, he hoped his brother had done the sensible thing and gotten some rest. Despite the bold - and annoying - front he put up, Sam had seen the lines of pain and fatigue etched on his brother's face.

But then Dean wasn't really one for sensible.

In hindsight, Sam knew it would have been better just to take him along. At least then he'd know what Dean was up to. Sam could only imagine the type of trouble his bored and battered brother could find when left unsupervised.

He swore, sometimes it was like traveling with a five-year-old.

Sam checked the map again and turned right down the hallway. He mentally recorded each turn so he would be able to retrace his steps later that night. Another corner and he arrived at the room he was looking for.

Several paintings depicting religious scenes hung on the walls, but there were only a few artifacts on display. Sam leaned over to look in a small glass case and instantly recognized the cross.

It was small, only a few inches in length, but featured an ornate Celtic pattern carved into the pristine, white surface. Sam found it hard to believe that such a small object could be indirectly responsible for so many deaths.

Aside from the glass and a velvet rope, there was nothing protecting the cross but the alarm system. And thankfully he had Scott to handle that.

"Sir?"

Sam spun around.

The petite gray-haired woman smiled. "Sir, we're going to be closing in fifteen minutes so you'd better catch those last few exhibits."

Sam nodded and the museum aide continued on her rounds.

_Fifteen minutes_, he thought to himself.

Fifteen minutes was all he would have to get the cross. And he was going to make each of them count.

_Herne…you're toast._

* * *

Dean let out a moan as he exited onto the crowded railway platform.

_NEVER again_.

Before his little journey, the pain in his chest had been reduced to a dull throb. Now it practically screamed like one of his AC/DC tapes.

For an instant, he wished he'd brought some of the pain pills that he'd avoided taking since leaving the hospital. He shook his head

_Suck it up_, he ordered himself. _Stop being such a girl!_

Dean stood a little straighter. One thing his father had taught him was how to follow orders, and Dean was always the good little soldier - even if the latest directive did come from his own head.

Though he'd never admit to it, Dean knew he wasn't in any shape for a hunt. Yet, there was no way was he letting his little brother face Rudolph the Crazy-Assed Reindeer and his pack of pitbulls without backup.

He just needed to focus, that was all.

Glancing around the station, Dean saw a map of the city on the far wall. "Okay," he said aloud. "Time for a little sightseeing."

He made a move toward the map, but navigating the busy station proved no easy task. Throngs of commuters moved to and from the trains, and Dean received several rough pushes and jabs as he made his way to the opposite wall.

Tears sprung to his eyes as an elderly woman's massive suitcase hit him squarely in the side.

"Watch where you're going!" she screamed at him.

Dean bit his lip and gave a weak smile.

_Real men don't cry_, he reminded himself.

The woman stared at him as if he was deranged. "Punk," she muttered. She hauled the gargantuan piece of luggage after her, nearly clipping Dean for a second time.

Gritting his teeth, he finally reached the map. Dean scanned the grid and located the dot symbolizing the museum. It appeared to be only a couple blocks away.

The way things were going, Dean just prayed he could get there in one piece.

* * *

Sam glanced at his watch. 

9:48.

Twelve more minutes.

Sam went over the details again in his head.

After his recon mission at the museum, he had called Scott and confirmed their plan.

The guards worked on alternating rounds. After the early shift completed a final sweep, they would hand off to the night watchmen at 10:00 p.m. That's when Scott would disengage the alarms and loop the surveillance tape, giving Sam a small window of opportunity to get to the third floor unseen.

Sam replayed the route to the cross in his head. There would be no second chances on this one.

"Miss me?"

Sam almost choked.

"Dean?!" Sam shouted, surprised at the sudden arrival of his brother.

He quickly lowered his voice. "Dean, what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be back at the motel!"

"You didn't really think I was going to let you go all _Mission Impossible_ without me, did you?" Dean slowly kneeled in the bushes next to Sam, letting out only a faint grunt as he lowered himself down.

Sam just stared at him. "What happened to Scout's honor?"

"Please, you know I was never a boy scout," Dean deadpanned. "I hate camping."

"Dean, this is crazy!" Sam whispered loudly. "How did you even get here?"

Dean involuntarily winced at the memory of MARTA.

"Cab," he lied. He quickly changed the subject. "How much time we got?"

Sam checked his watch. _Nine minutes_.

"Just about nine minutes, but Dean…"

"Stow it, Tom Cruise." Dean's voice was firm. "I'm here and I'm staying. Now come on…we don't have much time."

Sam glared at his brother, but Dean was right – they didn't have time to argue.

"Fine," Sam relented. "But you stay out here and keep watch. We only have few minutes to get this done and there's no way you'd make it out in time."

Even Dean admitted to this and agreed to stand lookout in case any supernatural hunters came calling.

"I am so kicking your ass when I get back," Sam muttered.

"Noted," said Dean.

Six minutes.

Sam threw his brother one last look and crept toward the side entrance of the museum.

_Showtime._

* * *

9:59. 

As the seconds ticked by, Sam waited nervously outside the side entrance of the museum. Breaking and entering was not on his top ten list.

A single beep chirped from his cell phone - Scott's signal that his part was done.

Sam took the lock picking tools from his pocket and set to work on the door. He and Dean had gotten plenty of practice over the years, and within seconds, he heard the latch click open.

Slipping inside, Sam quickly looked around. No guards.

He glanced up at the security camera. The little red light blinked on and off.

_Scott, you better be as good as you claim you are._

He headed up the stairs.

* * *

Dean looked at his watch for the fiftieth time.

It had been over a half an hour and Dean had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Where the hell was Sam?

He looked at his watch again.

"That kid better be alright…," Dean whispered to himself, " or I'm gonna kill him."

"Miss me?"

Dean spun around, wincing at the sudden movement.

"Dammit, Sam!"

Sam grinned.

"Jerk." Dean muttered. He stared at his brother. "Well?"

Sam held out his hand and showed Dean the small, white cross.

"Mission accomplished."

* * *

Still with me? What do you think? 

a/n- I just had to get Dean on public transportation. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up :)


	6. Chapter 6

Stolen artifact in hand, the two brothers quickly put some distance between them and the scene of the crime.

When the art building was safely out of sight, Dean pulled out his lighter.

Herne was way past his due.

Sam placed a hand on his arm. "Dean, wait!" He said quickly.

"What?!" Dean hissed, lowering the flame.

Sam grabbed the lighter and flicked the lid shut. "That cross is a piece of history. We can't just burn it!"

"Geez!" Dean snatched the Zippo back from his brother and returned it to his pocket. "You take one art history course and suddenly I'm traveling with the _Antiques Roadshow_."

"I just meant I may know another way," Sam said quickly. "When I was doing research this afternoon, I found something called a Disjoining Spell…"

"A dis-what?" Dean asked, skeptically.

"A Disjoining Spell… it's used to break the connection between a spirit and the physical object it's tied to."

Dean looked at Sam. "If that's true, then why did Dad always say to burn haunted objects?"

Sam shrugged.

"Fire's quicker?"

Dean gave a nod. "I'll buy that. So how's this Disjointment thing work?"

"Disjoining," Sam corrected. "Not too complicated actually. We purify the object with salt and the incantation breaks the bond with the spirit."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Alright, but we need to find a better spot than this," Dean said, looking around. "Call me shy, but I tend not to like people watching when I banish an ancient evil back to hell."

Sam spotted a small playground up ahead. Tall oak trees surrounded the site, partially blocking the road from view. "Hey," he nudged Dean's arm. "Over there."

The brothers entered the playground, selecting the corner of the plot furthest from the road.

Sam kneeled and removed the cross from his pocket. He drew a circle in the dirt with his finger and laid the small artifact in the center. Flicking open the canister of rock salt, he then covered the object with white granules.

Sam whistled up at his brother.

Dean, who had been on the lookout for any unexpected company, glanced down at him.

"What?"

"A little light?"

Dean tossed him the flashlight.

Sam switched on the beam and aimed it at the copied page. He reviewed the text, then began to chant in Latin.

Dean watched the cross for any signs that the spell was working but didn't see any change. He definitely preferred their usual way of dealing with cursed artifacts - at least the bonfire method gave some visible results.

At that moment, a low growl emerged from the trees.

Dean immediately stiffened. He trained his weapon in the direction of the sound.

_This was not good._

Out of the shadows, he watched as a pair of glowing, red eyes materialized in the night. Dean narrowed his own eyes, trying to see through the shadows formed by the grouping of oaks. He swallowed as a second set of red appeared out of the dark.

Dean took a step back. "Uh, Sam?"

"Hmmm?" His brother replied, his back to to the trees.

"Read faster…" Dean said. He readjusted his gun.

Sam lifted his eyes from the page and turned to look over his shoulder. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could just make out two Hell Hounds emerging from the woods.

Sam stared at the approaching shapes. Their huge, muscular bodies, more like that of a bear or werewolf than a dog, seemed to dwarf his brother's 6'0 frame. Even in the dim light, Sam could see their matted black fur was stained in patches and he shuddered to think what substance probably marred their coats. What really held his attention, though, were the enormous, curved fangs filling the savage jaws.

"Sam!"

Sam tore his eyes away from the horrific forms. He cleared his throat and continued to chant.

Dean's chest felt tight but he kept his eyes fixed on the hounds.

His brain flashed to the nightmare he'd had that afternoon. He could still feel the terror he'd experienced during the dream. The image of his little brother being mauled by the savage dogs chilled him and he gripped his gun tighter.

No way was he letting those mutts make _that _a reality - not as long as he was still breathing.

The larger of the two hounds advanced towards the brothers. Dean cocked the hammer.

"I'm not really in the mood for fetch," he directed toward the animal. "So how 'bout you find someone else to play with?"

The dog took another step forward and Dean fired. The gun's recoil jolted his body and he fought the urge to black out – or puke.

"Dean!"

Dean struggled to find the breath to answer his brother. He looked frantically at Sam. "READ!" He finally forced out.

Sam turned back to the incantation. As he completed the final phrase, a flash erupted from the cross. Both brothers reflexively shielded their eyes from the glare.

Then it was quiet.

Sam blinked.

The Hell Hounds were gone.

"Do you see them?" His brother's shaky voice asked.

"No," Sam said, getting to his feet. He checked the playground for any sign of the black dogs. "No… I think they're gone."

Dean wasn't taking any chances. He kept his gun up, completing a sweep of the treeline. "You sure?"

Sam scoured the grounds again but the hounds were nowhere in sight.

"I'm sure," Sam said.

Dean lowered his gun.

"I'll be damned," he said. "Guess your Disjointed thingy worked after all."

"Disjoini…" Sam started to correct his brother. "Never mind," he finished, shaking his head.

The immediate danger avoided, Dean felt the adrenaline rush begin to fade. Without the surge of energy, his body finally succumbed to the pain and fatigue he'd tried so hard to suppress. He was freakin' exhausted.

He leaned over, bracing a hand on his thigh for support.

"Sam," he said slowly. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained. "I think I've had enough culture for awhile." He straightened, clenching his jaw. "Next time, we go to the movies."

"Deal," Sam replied. He plopped himself down on the nearby merry-go-round.

Dean lowered himself next to his brother. Neither Winchester spoke for a minute, letting the events of the past few hours wash over them.

"So," Sam said casually. "I'd say tonight was definitely a well-rounded evening, wouldn't you? A little demonic ritual, a little grand larceny…" His eyes found the cross that was still lying on the ground. "Speaking of…what should we do with this thing?"

"I guess you'll need to play secret agent again and return it," Dean replied. He lovingly placed the gun back into the waistband of his jeans.

"No way." Sam shook his head. "My cat-burglar days are over."

"We could always pawn it..." Dean grinned mischievously.

"Dean."

"I'm kidding. We'll mail it back to the museum," Dean said. "Anonymously, of course."

"Of course," Sam repeated. He surveyed his brother. Dean definitely looked like crap. "You ready to go back to the motel?" He asked.

Dean thought of their accommodations. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah."

Sam smiled and bent down to pack up his supplies. This was one job he was glad to see end.

Dean shifted his weight. All he wanted was a hot cup of coffee and a nice warm bed. He felt like he hadn't slept in months.

Leaning his head back, he let out a sigh. _Happy hunting you freaky bastard._

He hoisted himself off the merry-go-round and turned to leave the playground. Suddenly, he paused.

"Sam?" he began.

"Yeah?"

"That spell of yours…"

Sam continued collecting their scattered supplies. "What about it?"

"You didn't happen to...say, forget a part, did you?"

"Of course not, why?"

"I don't know." Dean said slowly. His voice was monotone.

He pointed towards the far end of the playground. "Maybe 'causa him."

Sam raised his head. Across the dark grounds, illuminated by the moon, stood the massive, hulking, figure of Herne the Hunter.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean spun around. "What the hell, Sam?"

"I don't know…" Sam said quickly "…the spell should of worked!"

"Aw, that's nice," Dean said with a wry smile. "Why don't you tell him that?!" He motioned angrily towards Herne.

"That flash of light," Sam reasoned. "it had to have worked..." He ran his hand over his mouth. "Unless…"

"Unless?" Dean gaped at his younger brother. "NOW there's an 'unless'?"

"Unless…the spell only destroys the _link _between the spirit and the object - not the spirit itself."

"Oh, that's just freakin' fantastic, Sam" Dean said, exasperated. "Next time you do your Geekboy thing, how 'bout checkin' the footnotes?" He looked down at the cross. "I knew we should have torched that sucker."

"Well, you can rub it in later," Sam said, eyes widening. "Right now, I think we have bigger problems."

Dean turned to see a particularly large Hell Hound coming their way.

"Wonderful," Dean muttered "he's letting his pets have first dibs." He grabbed Sam and ducked behind a large piece of play equipment.

"Any ideas?" Sam asked, peering out from their cover.

Dean reached in his ankle sheath and pulled out the knife he had grabbed from the Impala's arsenal. The blade was made of forged iron. "Not quite a horseshoe," Dean said, referencing the article Sam had found, "but it'll have to do."

Sam snatched the weapon from his injured brother.

"I got this," Sam said firmly. "You stay here."

Dean started to object, but Sam cut him off. "Listen, right now I can move faster than you. Besides," he waved the knife, "they're repelled by iron, right? I'll be fine."

Clutching the weapon tightly, Sam emerged from behind the plastic play structure. He crept towards the growling animal, blade pointed at the hound.

Dean was not particularly fond of this plan.

From his shielded position, he watched his brother move closer to the snarling form, somehow resisting the urge to run out there and stab the spectral bastard himself. Instead, he kept his gun aimed at the dog's head, fully prepared to suffer through another tortuous recoil should his brother need help.

Sam inched forward.

_Just a little further_…he told himself.

He was a step away from being able to strike when the hound opened its massive jaws and snapped. Sam fell backwards, narrowly escaping with his hand intact.

The instant he hit the ground, the black dog was gone, taking the knife with it.

"Sam…," Dean stared at the empty air the dog had just occupied. "Did that thing just _eat _my knife?"

"Um…yeah," Sam confirmed, pushing himself to a sitting position.

Dean turned toward his brother. "What happened to 'repelled by iron'?"

"Apparently," Sam said, getting to his feet, "they're not." He ducked back down next to Dean. "The hounds must be connected to Herne in some way. So until we kill _him_…they're pretty much unstoppable."

"Perfect," Dean muttered. "Seeing as Lassie over there ate our only shot, I don't suppose you have a Plan B in the 'How-to-Waste-Him' department?"

Sam gazed at the distant form of the hunter. It suddenly hit him.

"Actually," he said slowly, nodding his head towards Herne. "I think I might."

"What?" Dean glanced at the spirit. "Herne?"

"Call me crazy," he added sarcastically, "but I don't see Happy Hunter over there's killing his pets for us."

"No," Sam hinted. "…The arrows…"

Dean stared at the hunter. Slung over his shoulder was an enormous antique bow, and below it, a quiver of arrows. Dean couldn't be sure from this distance but they looked like…

"Iron arrowheads. " Dean said approvingly. "Nice work Sammy." He gave his brother a punch in the shoulder. "Think it'll be enough to take him out?"

"I don't know," Sam said honestly. "But it's all we've got."

"Gotta love that medieval craftsmanship," Dean said.

He shook his head and let out a chuckle.

Sam stared at his brother as if he'd snapped. "What could possibly be funny right now?" Sam demanded.

Dean laughed again. "Wasting the guy with his own weapon…now that's poetic justice."

Sam loaded his gun. "Yeah, well, hold off on the sonnets …Herne's not just gonna give us those arrows."

Dean winked. "Got it covered."

Before Sam could stop him, Dean stepped out from behind their hiding spot.

"Hey…Bambi!" Dean yelled to the hunter, hoping he could draw the attention off of his brother. "That's right…remember me? How's about you come over here and finish what you started?"

Sam fought to stay calm. He struggled between the urge to save Dean, and the overwhelming impulse to strangle his brother for being such an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the thoughts of killing his reckless brother to the side. Nothing mattered but retrieving those arrows.

It was Dean's only chance.

Keeping his gun trained on the spirit, Sam crept behind the line of shrubbery that ran the perimeter of the playground. He could hear Dean goading the hunter on.

When he had gone several feet, Sam peered above the foliage. He was now directly behind Herne, a few yards away. The spirit's back was to him and he had a clear view of the quiver slung across the massive shoulder. Sam cocked his gun and prepared to move.

That's when he heard the growl.

_Crap,_ he thought.

He'd forgotten about the dogs.

Sam turned. He watched as the enormous black shape started to advance. With no other options, he aimed the gun at the hound, praying that even though the iron hadn't worked, rock salt would still sting enough to buy him some time.

Sam held his breath as the dog moved in range.

"Come on Cujo," he said quietly, "just a little closer…"

The hound took another step and Sam squeezed the trigger. As the spray of salt hit, the animal disappeared.

Sam swallowed.

_Dean!_

He turned back toward the scene. The hunter's attention was still fixed on his brother.

Sam could see the arrows, and although he knew he would have to move quickly, he was sure he could reach them.

He had to.

Stepping quietly in front of the bushes, Sam crouched, readying himself for the sprint.

Just as he was about to spring forward, Herne vanished. To Sam horror, the spirit reappeared a second later - right in front of Dean.

Sam watched helplessly as his brother was lifted off the ground by the hunter's large, bony hands.

_Dammit! _Sam cursed.

He knew he needed to act fast.

Dean wouldn't be able to hold out for very long.

* * *

A/n- I know, I know- another cliffhanger, but I just need to work out some stuff for the grand finale. For all of you that were angry with me the last time, just think of them as really long commercial breaks…go ahead and grab a snack and I'll have another update posted before you know it. 

And thanks so much for the comments, guys. Keep 'em coming! They make me happy…:)


	8. Chapter 8

a/n- Okay, drumroll kids! I give you…the finale. Sorry this took so long, but hope you all enjoy it.

And I'm not gonna beg for comments or anything, but please, please, please send feedback!

...Please?

(Okay, that was slightly begging.)

* * *

Dean strained against the hands holding him captive in the air. The hunter's merciless grip was nothing compared to the agony his own body was producing, but at the moment, he had other concerns. 

If the brothers were to get out of the playground alive, Dean knew he would have to keep the spirit's attention away from Sam.

Although he commanded his brain to think of some brilliant way to stall the hunter, Dean finally decided on the simplest method.

He would piss the guy off.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, Herne," he said casually, trying to hide the pain in his voice. He flicked his eyes downward. "Love the outfit. And did I mention how great the tights are?"

The hunter snarled, and Dean winced as he felt the fingers dig deeper.

_Okay, so not much for small talk_.

He looked up at Herne. "You know," he continued breathlessly, "I've seen some _ugly_ ghosts before, but you…" He smiled. "You dude, take the cake."

Dean instantly saw stars as his body was shoved forcefully into a nearby oak. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to pass out.

_Sam, you can_ _thank me later_.

* * *

Sam watched the scene from across the grounds. The spirit was toying with Dean, playing with his latest prey. 

Sam felt sick at the thought of his wounded brother being used as a decoy. Still, seeing Dean in pain was better than seeing him dead, and Sam was the only one who could make sure that didn't happen.

He wouldn't let his brother down.

* * *

Dean gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the waves of pain coursing through his body. 

Unable to see beyond the monstrous figure of the hunter, Dean had no idea where Sam was, or if he had bought enough time for his brother.

Unfortunately for his brilliant plan, speaking was beyond Dean's capability at the moment.

He glared up at Herne, but the hunter was done playing.

Suddenly, Dean felt the pressure around his torso increase, and the rush of oncoming pain caused his vision to blur. He could feel his fractured bones shifting, tearing him apart from the inside out.

Blackness crept along the edges of his sight, but he fought against it, knowing if he gave in, there would be nothing to stop the spirit from turning on Sam. Dean bit his lip, stifling a scream.

Finally, he just couldn't hold out any longer.

As Dean felt unconsciousness wash over him, a cold smile spread across the hunter's face. He watched the life begin to fade from his victim.

"Hey!" A voice called from behind.

The hunter turned.

Sam stared angrily at the spirit, his right arm behind his back. "Get the hell away from my brother."

Herne made a move towards Sam, and in that moment, the youngest Winchester plunged the stolen arrow directly into the hunter's heart.

Stunned, the spirit released Dean. He grabbed at the arrow shaft, but it was too late - the iron had begun to spread like a poison throughout his body. As Sam watched, a shudder wracked the hunter. His form flickered in and out; then a bright wave of light enveloped the playground.

Sam was knocked backwards by the blast. When the light faded, he blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness.

Dean was lying motionless in a heap.

This time, Dean didn't object when Sam called for the ambulance.

This time, he didn't say anything at all.

* * *

Dean remained unconscious throughout the ambulance ride. 

Seated in the corner of the rescue vehicle, Sam watched silently as the EMTs worked on his brother. The whole trip seemed faded and out of focus, like some sort of sick, twisted dream.

Sam shifted in the plastic hospital chair and flipped mindlessly through one of the magazines. He'd lost track of time a few hours ago.

"Mr. O'Toole?"

Sam stood.

"Your brother's out of surgery," the doctor began. "I'm afraid one of the rib fractures collapsed his lung..."

Sam's couldn't breathe. "He's okay though?"

"He suffered some pretty severe chest trauma, but we were able to repair the damage in time," the doctor confirmed. "If he takes it easy for awhile, he'll recover."

_IF he takes it easy_, Sam thought bitterly.

"Can I see him?"

"He's resting now," the doctor said. "But I'll have someone let you know as soon as he's awake."

* * *

Sam pushed open the door to Dean's room. His brother lay surrounded by a collection of machines and wires. 

"Hey," Sam said quietly, pulling a chair over to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Dean glanced over at the bundle of cords. "Like a fax machine," he replied, his voice raw.

Sam gave a small smile and looked down at his hands.

Dean knew his brother well enough to know what that silence meant. He felt a "talk" coming. Why Sam couldn't just repress his emotions like a normal person, Dean would never understand.

"Alright," Dean said, steeling himself. "What is it?"

Sam couldn't answer right away.

"Dean," he finally began, "when I saw you in that ambulance…" His voice dropped off. "I thought you were dead."

"Sam..."

His brother didn't look up.

"Dude, come on," Dean said lightly, "no way I'd let that walking coat rack finish me off." At Sam's pained expression, Dean's forced smile slowly faded. "Man, don't worry...I always come out fine."

"You call emergency surgery 'fine'?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I didn't say I was mint condition or anything…"

Sam stood angrily and turned away from the bed. "Dean, you shouldn't even have been out there tonight!"

"Look, we didn't know what we were dealing with, alright?" Dean objected, "I wasn't letting you out there alone with some psycho spirit."

Sam faced his brother. "There's always going to be another spirit, Dean. Or another zombie, or another werewolf... You know as well as I do that our lives are not normal, so this whole Great Protector thing you got going? Frankly, it's old."

His voice got quieter. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a little kid anymore."

Dean eyed his 6'5" brother. "I can see that, Shaquille."

"I'm serious, Dean...it's not your job to watch out for me all the time."

Dean repositioned his head on the pillow.

"Yes, it is," he said simply.

Sam cocked his head. "What?"

"Yes, it is, Sam," Dean repeated. "I'm your big brother, alright. Giant or not, I'm always gonna look out for you."

Sam didn't know how to respond. Neither Winchester spoke for a minute.

Finally, Dean's voice broke the silence.

"Hey, Sam?"

His brother looked up.

"We're not going to have to hug or anything, right? 'Cause I think I've suffered enough for one day."

Sam couldn't help it. He smiled.

Sometimes, he was convinced their family held the patent on avoidance techniques. "No. I think you're safe," he replied.

"Thank God…" Dean breathed and seized the opportunity to switch topics. "So, I take it since we're both here having this conversation that the arrow thing worked?"

Sam nodded. "The arrow thing worked."

"I guess that means I should forgive you for that Disillusionment fiasco."

"Disjoining," Sam corrected automatically.

"Whatever."

"You know," Sam began, lowering himself back in the seat. "_I _was the one who thought of using the arrow…so I still saved your ass tonight."

"Woah," Dean scoffed, "I'll admit you did okay out there, but let's not forget the real hero…"

"And that would be?"

Dean gave him his best "Isn't-It-Obvious?" look.

Sam shook his head. "How does getting caught by the enemy and beaten unconscious classify you as a hero?"

"Excuse me? Who kept Antler-head busy so you could grab that arrow in the first place?

"You're right." Sam agreed. "You made awesome bait."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it _bait_…," Dean mumbled.

"You know," Sam began, "the doctor says you're gonna need to take it easy for a couple months." He raised his eyebrow. "So no more hero stuff for awhile, okay?"

"You bet."

Sam wasn't buying it. "I'm serious, Dean. Can I trust you this time?"

"Of course, Sammy," Dean replied. He held up his hand.

"Scout's honor."

THE END

* * *

So what'd ya think??? 

a/n-Like the real Supernatural, I thought it only fitting to end our little adventure with five minutes of actual sentiment, then head right back into snark territory and forget it ever happened.

For all of you that could use a little extra snarkfest (I know I can!) I've got a little "deleted scene" epilogue for you. Call it my gift for torturing you with all those cliffhangers :)


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

a/n Just had to throw this little bit in there...

* * *

_A couple days later_

"Herne...What was up with that name anyway?" Dean asked. He played lazily with the sorry excuse for a Salisbury Steak on the tray in front of him. "I mean come on…Herne? Betcha that dude got his butt kicked in school."

"Maybe in the Dark Ages 'Herne' was cool," Sam suggested. He had his long frame stretched between two hospital chairs.

Dean gave his brother a skeptical look. "I don't care what century you're from… no way that name was ever cool."

"Whatever. All that matters is he's gone."

"Not that he went quietly," Dean muttered. He put a hand on his damaged chest. "That guy is so off my Christmas card list."

"Oh, hey that reminds me," Sam said, reaching into his pocket. "Since you've had such a rough week, I got you a little present." He handed Dean a small wrapped box.

"Hey, thanks Sammy," Dean said, shaking the package. A worried look came over his face. "It's not a cross is it?"

"No," Sam smiled. "I promise, nothing remotely religiously affiliated."

"Good, cause I think I've had my fill of…" Dean paused.

His face reddened and he looked at his little brother. "Very funny, bitch."

"I thought so," Sam said with a huge grin.

He ducked as the box, and the monthly MARTA pass it contained, flew across the room.

* * *

a/n For my first fanfic adventure, I think it went rather well. Thanks for all the comments guys. It's been fun! 


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